


Romance Is Boring

by syrenhug



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/F, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, genitalia m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrenhug/pseuds/syrenhug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe there’s a boy. Maybe he sits in front of you in English class, staring out the window with his brown aviator jacket that he wears every day. Maybe you think he’s beautiful in a non-beautiful way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romance Is Boring

Maybe there’s a boy. Maybe he sits in front of you in English class, staring out the window with his brown aviator jacket that he wears every day. Maybe you think he’s beautiful in a non-beautiful way.

And you’re straight. Girls have nice everything and you’re not disappointed when they come and go, lean in over the desk with wide eyes and wide smiles. You’re rich and happy and there’s nothing that’s out of your reach.

 

You’re Jason Grace and he’s the gum under the desk. You know to stay away.

* * *

Except, you can’t, because you’re assigned to do a project together. _Write a poem that’s more than one page about something you feel passionate about. Then swap it._ It’s going to be awful for you, but from the words printed all over his notebook he’ll do just fine.

“So what are you passionate about?”

“Um,” You smile a little when Piper sticks out her tongue from where she’s sitting with Reyna. They’ll kill each other, you can feel it in your veins. “I like music.”

Nico does not look impressed. “Okay. If you think you can write an entire poem about whatever boy band you listen to - "

“I listen to a lot of Los Campesinos!.” You blurt out. It’s mostly because Nico sounds just like your father does when he talks to you, condescending and disappointed. Some people figure they already know you before you’ve even met.

Brown eyes study you, body still angled away. After a minute, over the loud chattering of their class mates (who even knows where Mr. Apollo is) he says, “Me too.”

 

You lick your lips and watch him fiddle with his notebook again. The bullshit evaporates.

* * *

“So what do you like?”

He’s wearing the kind of hat that doesn’t ever stop sliding off unless you have a brick wall of hair and you find the faces he makes whenever it happens slightly adorable.

And you really are straight.

“I like trains.” He shrugs, but it’s less of shrug and more of a defensive move that puts you two farther away.

“That’s cool.” Though, you think it’s kind of weird, really. He must pick up on it because he flinches. Which makes you feel so awful you stretch a hand out to lie on his shoulder.

He snaps, “Don’t touch me.” And you put your hand back quickly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

 

But you wonder if it ever really is.

* * *

“So Reyna and I are going out.”

You blink. Percy and Annabeth look at each other.

“You owe me ten bucks.” Annabeth smirks and her boyfriend groans.

“Wait,” Everyone pauses. “What?”

“I like Reyna’s vagina.”

You choke, staring at your best friend’s unashamed eyes. It isn’t a huge deal. You don’t care. It’s just - Piper’s never said anything about liking girls. You think about Nico, then, and turn away, flushing.

“And you like Nico’s dick.”

How many times are you going to choke today? “Piper - "

“Liking a dude doesn’t make you gay. It just means you’re happy and that’s not something I’ve seen you rock since your sister died.”

You don’t want to eat anymore. The chair scrapes across the floor loudly. Piper doesn’t even seem bothered. Sometimes you hate how emotionally easy everything is for her.

When things happen to you, you keep it in your system until you can’t even think about letting it go. Holding on to bad things is easier than letting them go.

Nobody really gets it.

* * *

Any attempts at writing the poem is horrific. But there is something you feel passionate about. You just haven’t found it yet.

Nico, sitting stiffly in the passenger’s seat, asks, “Where are we going?”

“To see the trains.”

It’s silent all the way there and when you get to the train tracks you park in the grass. You turn on No Blues as loud as it can go and listen to the train rushing by.

And Nico is mouthing the words into the window, eyeing the wheels chugging past. You almost don’t hear it when he says, “My mom got hit by a train.”

There are things you could say that are stiff, normal. Things you’ve heard before out of politeness when your sister passed away.

You don’t say them.

“Why are you passionate about them?”

“Love and passion aren’t the same things, Jason.” The first time your name comes out of his firm, unyielding mouth has you clearing your throat. “You take what you have left.”

It’s not the right moment. But, it strikes you that this is what you have left. The snippy, loner kid in English class and friends that bet over how homosexual you are.

It’s what you’ve got. So - “I’ve liked you since I saw you. I think it was a Friday and you were wearing a scarf that looked too tight. You were trying not to smile at something your mom had said in the checkout line. We were thirteen.”

He frowns, opening his mouth, but another train whirls past in a cloud of memories too loudly. And he gets out without looking back.

You never figure out what he says.

 

* * *

It’s about a month after the project and Piper and Reyna kissing in the hallways that he speaks to you again. He’s still wearing the jacket. You wonder if he ever takes it off.

“Don’t fuck with me.” But it’s not angry and his eyes are as full of possibilities as the dirt before the rain.

“I never wanted to.”

Nico nods. “Your poem sucked. I was embarrassed to read it to the class.”

“Is that a confession?” It sounds airy, flirty and you get a small smile in response.  

“No,” He leans forward. You think he’s going to kiss you but he only brushes his nose against your cheek and even that is so nice - you’re flying. “Did you want one?”

“No. You keep it.”

* * *

Maybe there’s a boy. Maybe you weren’t ever supposed to be anything because there is nothing you can give each other that you both don’t already have. Maybe it’s never going to last.

But he has eyes that dig the sky out your body. His voice is smoke churning out a chimney top and you want to breathe it in until you choke. There is nothing about him that feels new, unfamiliar and while others would find that uninteresting, you like having a person as a home.

Maybe the thing is, you’re Jason Grace and he’s the worn, tired desk no one’s ever really looked at.

And you don’t know how to stay away.


End file.
